


Sacrament of Wilderness

by killing_kurare



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killing_kurare/pseuds/killing_kurare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy survived the zombie apocalypse. But surviving isn't living. Is the Slayer too far gone to care? (bad pun intended :'D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrament of Wilderness

  
**AN** : Title by Nightwish  
**Challenge** : [](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**comment_fic**](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/): Buffy the Vampire Slayer/any, Buffy Summers, after the apocalypse she travels, killing zombies, and moving on. for [](http://3am-moonlight.livejournal.com/profile)[**3am_moonlight**](http://3am-moonlight.livejournal.com/)  
**Challenge** : [](http://100-women.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://100-women.livejournal.com/)**100_women** : Lemon

 

  
  
Her hair is short and filthy, she cut it herself with the axe she’s carrying around.  
  
_Faint memory of someone saying he loved her hair, calling her Goldilocks …_  
  
Not important. More important to find something to eat, so she has to go on and on and on. Safer to not walk on the road, to avoid the cities.  
  
_Faint memory of a home and warmth …_  
  
She shakes her head and jumps over a big root as not to trip over it. She has always been in good shape, her body flexible and her reflexes fast; how else would she still be alive?  
Her senses tingle and she stops in her tracks, doesn’t move a muscle to avoid any noise. A few moments pass and suddenly she hears a scream. Far away. A good distance. Not her business, moving on.  
  
_Faint memory of duty, of helping people in need. Of saving._  
  
She grits her teeth. These times are long since past. It’s not her problem anymore. The only thing that’s still her business is her own life.  
  
_Faint memory of trying to help, of failing. Tears. Sadness. Despair. Red hair tainted with blood. Warm, familiar smile ripped of a skull._  
  
She allows herself a low grunt to bring her back into reality (no matter how terrible this reality is).  
  
Another low grunt answers hers, moaning, hissing, but she isn’t afraid anymore. No, she is _prepared_. She takes the axe and aims at the rotten corpse that crosses her way, throws the weapon and splits the disgusting head in two, then dashes forward, takes the axe that was stuck in a tree loosely and swings it to also send the other three zombies to where they belong. May it be hell or heaven or endless nothingness – it’s also nothing to her.  
  
She is fast and sure, she knows better how to survive than anyone else, and though she’d love to give up … she can’t.  
  
_Faint memory of tears, a whispered ‘I can’t go on anymore’, then pain, pain, pain at the sight of her beloved sister hanging from a tree._  
  
She left the depth of the forest and spotted a house, smiles, ignores the tree in front of it that looks exactly like the other one – _no, don’t look, there’s nothing, no one hanging there, just don’t look_ – and knocks at the walls loudly, listens intently if there’s anything to destroy, to kill, but only silence follows. She calls out (Just a ‘Heya!’ for she fears she has lost any other words) …

 

 _faint memory of words, sentences, volumes, books, smell of paper and leather and dust, so familiar_  
  
… and still there is no sound except for her soft footsteps on high grass.  
  
So she enters the house, looks through the rooms, expects anything and nothing, her axe held up high above her head, ready to strike, ready to make sure she survives …  
  
And still nothing. She’s gone through each room (twice to be sure) and now allows herself to relax, just a little, just a moment. She walks into the kitchen, finds some water and packs it up, finds some tinned food. A good day, a successful day.  
  
Keeps on looking, just in case, and finds indeed … a fruit. It’s still bright yellow, how can it still be so fresh? But doesn’t matter, it’s healthy, it’s vitamin C, it’s tasty …  
  
No, it’s not tasty, it’s sour, and she grimaces, sticks out her tongue and remembers  
  
_a faint memory of sweet, tasty, unhealthy (but so good, so good)_  
  
but it’s not helping, so she shoves it aside and keeps on devouring the lemon, trying not to taste, not to think, not to remember.  
  
Suddenly the door opens and she halts in the movement, listens, ducks under the table right away, reaches for her axe, finds it, waits.  
  
“I can’t believe we found all this stuff,” a female voice says.  
  
“Yeah, we were lucky for once,” a male answers, and her heart beats faster, waits for them to show themselves, she knows she can survive, can take them both, can take anything.  
  
A girl appears in the doorway, smiling, laughing, there’s music in her, she has long hair, so familiar, almost the same color, almost, hers is lighter, and the girl sets eyes on her and freezes.  
She hisses and shows her axe, still crouching on the floor under the table, but no problem to simply jump out and take them …  
  
“Daryl,” the girl says, just a little alarmed, not as much as she would’ve wanted, but not important.  
  
The male appears, wild looking, wilder then the girl, not wilder than herself, so she can take him.  
“Oh crap,” he mutters, but doesn’t move.  
  
None of them move, then the girl speaks: “We don’t want to hurt you, so please don’t hurt us, okay?”  
  
She doesn’t fall for that, never again, never …  
  
“You can keep what you found, it’s alright.”  
  
Didn’t intend to give it back anyway …  
  
Now the girl smiles, her eyes too warm, not afraid, not careful.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
A question asked, doesn’t answer, doesn’t want to answer – cannot answer?  
  
“I’m Beth, and this is Daryl,” the girl introduces, still smiling.  
  
“Beth, be careful.”  
  
“It’s okay. See, if she wanted to kill us, she would’ve tried already. Am I right?”  
  
Another question, why is the girl speaking to her, no one speaks to her, not since …

 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. If you come out from underneath the table, I’m going to share with you what I found today.”  
  
Watching intently, the girl looks for something in her bag, could be dangerous, could be weapon, but the smile is so warm, the hair is so light …  
  
“See? It’s really rare, but I would share with you,” the girl beckons.  
  
_A faint memory …_  
  
The girl, Beth, holds up a red lollipop, and she remembers something, she had something like this, it was sweet, it was tasty, it was …  
It doesn’t matter, she wants it, and if … Beth has it, she can’t be evil, she would be willing to share, wouldn’t she?  
  
She lowers her axe. “B… B…”  
  
Beth frowns, still holding the lollipop in front of her. “Yes?”  
  
“Bu… Buffy. Buffy,” Buffy repeats and blinks rapidly. “My name is Buffy,” she says, puts the axe down and stands up.  
  
_A faint memory of being alone, better off being alone, no trust, no friends, they would only die, only die …_  
  
But it doesn’t matter now. Now she wants to talk to Daryl and Beth, and she wants to be **Buffy** ; not just a survivor.  
  
So Buffy smiles and says: “It’s nice to meet you.”


End file.
